


we're holding our breath

by Florchis



Series: love bites so deep [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Simmorse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Light Angst, Light Drinking, M/M, Making Up, Marriage Discussion, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florchis/pseuds/Florchis
Summary: Fitz has a question to ask and Hunter has some issues to work through. With a little help from their friends, they try to find a middle ground to remember that they are great together in many ways.





	we're holding our breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theclaravoyant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/gifts).



> Sequel to "I ate you up the day we first spoke", but can be read pretty much as an stand-alone. 
> 
> From a prompt: "You've been quiet."
> 
> Rated T for language. Also mentions of Fitz's father canonical abuse of his son.

####  **_when you swallow someone whole,_ **

####  **_you are bound to choke_ **

* * *

He is on his third beer when Bobbi comes through the door, seething like a goddess with a bloodlust. He was well aware that she was going to find out rather sooner than later, and considering he’s at her place, it’s not like he wasn’t expecting her. The amount of alcohol definitely will help him deal with the situation.

“Greetings, Barbara. Hope you don’t mind that I’m once again crashing on your couch.” He sounds unfairly articulate, not in comparison to how many beers he has had, but in comparison to the ways he feels. There is a gaping hole in his chest, and yet he focused on coming up with an opening sentence like that. Sometimes, he doesn’t understand his brain.

Most of the time, really.   

“Hunter, what the hell?”

Oh, so this doesn’t even qualify for the Lancelot treatment, then. When she is mildly upset with him, she calls him Lancelot just to annoy him, but when she is mad, _really mad,_ she doesn’t find it in herself to be conceited, because she is too focused on ripping him apart.

He chugs another gulp of beer, not bothering himself with a reply. In full honesty, it’s because he doesn’t have anything to say to her.

He is kind of wondering _what the hell, Hunter_ himself.

He crushes the empty beer can with his fist, throws it towards the trash bin, and misses. Bobbi doesn’t even blink, still glaring at him from the threshold.

“Want one?” It's finally how he decides to go about this, and Bobbi sighs and nods, probably realizing that the Hateful Fury Approach won’t work this time.

She sits down next to him and downs half of her beer in one go.       

“Care to explain why did you ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you, Hunter?”

His nose flares in indignation, not because she is not right, but because how dares she throw salt into his open wound. How can he tell her that he did what he did because, yes, Fitz is the best thing that has ever happened to him, but he will never be the best thing that has happened to Fitz? He can not tell her that without crying, and if he cries she will drag his ass to Fitz to apologize, and he came to her because she is the person that better understands him besides his boyfriend (ex-boyfriend? _Oh, god)_ , and he doesn’t want to wallow in his misery; he wants to get hellishly drunk till he passes out.

He can not be one hundred percent sure, but he believes that maybe the pain will at least subdue while he is unconscious.

“I didn’t come here for you to torture me, Bob.”

"No, you came here because you fucked up, and you come to me when you fuck up.”

That makes the anger flare up inside him; who does she believe she is, picture-perfect lady of immaculate relationships?  

“Just because you are married again it doesn't give you the right to lecture me on relationships.” He makes a pause. The alcohol, or the pain, or maybe both, make his thought process a little fuzzy around the edges. “Jesus Christ, Barbara, I can't believe you eloped and it wasn't with me.”

It’s been a while since it happened, and he has made a point to bring it into attention at least once a week; it never fails to make her laugh, except for now.   

“Excuse me, mister ‘getting a divorce doesn't mean me and Bobbi stopped loving each other’, don't you realize how _mental,_ ” god, he hates when she does that fake accent, that is not how he sounds _at all,_ “it is that you freak out when someone you love proposes?”

It all comes back to that, doesn’t it? That she doesn’t understand that he is fucked up, and he doesn’t want to drag Fitz down into the mud with him. He had come way too close to doing it already.

Instead of addressing what she said, he shrugs, pretending a nonchalance that neither of them buys.   

“What even was the need to get married? We were doing great as we were.”

Bobbi tilts her head, surprised by the question.

“Why did _we_ get married, Hunter?”

He shrugs.

“I’m still asking myself that question.” That earns him a glare, and he rolls his eyes.

“It was because we loved each other, and yes, because we were fucked up and thought that it was a form of commitment that could compensate for all the other ways in which we were not willing to commit.” He opens his mouth to tell her that there she has his reason for his current freaking out, but she shuts him down with a gesture. “But. But it not working for us doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work for anyone. I believe that it was the right choice for me and Jemma. I have to believe that.” She smiles gently while saying her wife’s name, and bloody hell, when did they softened up into this sappy version of themselves? “I’m not saying that you have to get married just because he proposed. But you should definitely have handled it with a little more grace than just plain leaving.”

His lips quiver, Bobbi notices and places a comforting hand on top of his. They don’t make eye contact, because there is only that much intimacy they can handle.

“But it’s not that I don’t _want_ to marry him.”

Bobbi frowns, and Hunter licks his lips. For all that she is a realistic person, she has never been a pessimistic, and it’s difficult for her to face a reality that does not align with her calculations.

“Then what it is?”

He moves his hand away to make an encompassing gesture with his arms.

“Everything? Like it or not, Bob, we were a mess, a barely working mess.” She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything to contradict him, because they both know he is right. “What do I know about being married to someone? About being a loving husband in sickness and in health and all that bullshit?”

He inhales sharply. He freaked out when Fitz asked- thanks God he is sensible enough to know better than to do a flashy, public proposal-, turned around and left, turning off his phone and going to hide in Bobbi and Jemma’s apartment. Only later, in between beers, he had started to process why that was his immediate reaction.     

“I love him too much to sentence him to me and my, as you said, unwillingness to commit.”

He is shutting his eyes tight, to not allow the tears to come out. Bobbi is deadly silent after such statement, and when he has quieted down a tad and opens his eyes again, strangely enough, he finds her smiling.

“What do you think _he_ knows, Lancelot?” And this is her affectionate Lancelot, not the exasperated one. “What do you think I know, or even what Jemma knows? Only that we are willing to try our hardest. There is not much else we can ask from each other.”

He doesn’t realize he is crying until he feels the tears splashing in his tightly closed fists, and he looks at them frowning like he doesn’t understand how they could possibly exist.

“He makes me terribly happy, and I’m terrified of fucking everything up.”

He knows that Bobbi is not purposely trying to be hurtful, but her reply still knocks all the air out of his lungs.

“Well, unless you do something soon, it might be already fucked up, Lancelot.”

* * *

It feels strange ringing the bell on the flat that has been his de facto home for the last year and a half. He frowns at the realization that maybe everything that is happening has been a long time coming mess, since Fitz had all the reasons to believe that their relationship was ready to take it one stage further.

At first, faced with the proposal, he thought that Fitz was out of his mind, that there was no reason to bring marriage into the discussion, that what they were doing was fun and nice, but breezy, far away from being that kind of serious. Now, he is slowly realizing that he was the one in deep denial, that is not even that they were in different pages in regards to their relationship; he is understanding now, overwhelmed by memories and feelings and the deep longing to see him again, that it doesn’t matter the tag name you put on things: it doesn’t change what things truly are.

He is almost ready to fall onto his knees and beg for forgiveness, but he is not really surprised when the door opens and it’s not Fitz.

Now, for a reason or another, he has never been afraid of Bobbi. Sure, he knows that she could kill him probably using only a rubber band, a chewed gum and with both hands tied up to her back. But, still. Maybe it’s because Bobbi has always been _Bobbi_ to him, ever since the beginning, and even during their worst times, he has never doubted that they still care for each other.  

On the other hand, Jemma Simmons is bloody terrifying.

Hunter doesn’t understand how can she be looking up to him from her five foot nothing and still make him feel that not only she will be able to crush all his bones, but also that she will enjoy doing it. He takes a step back just from the power of her gaze alone, but she mimics him and opens the door enough to let him in; he doesn’t know who does he have to thank for it- Bobbi or Fitz-, but someone clearly warned her against hurting him. She doesn’t move much though, not letting him step further inside. They have cultivated a positive enough relationship since they met, but apparently standing up her best friend’s proposal cancels out every good thing he has ever done in his life. He can not really blame her. 

They look into each other’s eyes for a couple of seconds that feel like eons, neither of them giving in until Fitz’s voice from another room breaks the spell.  

“Simmons? Was that Bobbi? Because if you are making out like teenagers, gross, and please wipe out each other’s lipstick before coming in.”

His knees go weak at the sound of his voice. He knows he loves him and he is not ashamed of admitting it, but noticing that just a day and a half without any news of him had made his bones ache is a realization in and of itself.

“Just a moment, Fitz!” Her voice is just the correct side of cheerful, and shivers run down Hunter’s spine; her eyes have not changed, and seeing the contrast between the way she is with Fitz and the way she is with someone who hurt Fitz is, once again, terrifying.

She pokes Hunter on the chest with just one finger, one of those long, bony fingers that he had teased her so much about, and he takes a step back.

“He doesn’t want to see you.” Now, her voice is low and cold, and Hunter bites the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t want to let you in, but Bobbi convinced me that you were going to make things right this time.” She makes a pause, inhales, exhales, making her nostrils flare. “You have one chance. _One,_ and I mean it. Don’t make me regret listening to my wife.” He is opening his mouth to tell her that he is aware that she probably knows seven ways to kill him undetected just with the chemicals daily at her disposal, but after a sigh her face softens, and she says something that leaves him completely floored. “Just… be gentle, okay? He feels everything too much, and I want him to be the happiest he can be.”

“So do I.” His reply it’s automatic, and that makes Simmons smile a little. It’s so very true, and maybe that doesn’t mean that they should get married, or maybe not right away, but it does mean that from now on he will make a better job of taking care of him and his big, giving heart.

Simmons nods, once, and even while she pretends to be harsh with him, Hunter can only appreciate how protective she is of Fitz and his feelings. When she leaves, Hunter inhales deeply, preparing himself for what it’s to come, but instead it comes to him; alerted by the sound of the door closing, Fitz comes out of his- _their?_ \- bedroom, and stops on his tracks at seeing him.

Being confronted with Fitz like this- wearing one of his own t-shirts, that is slightly long on him; his hair short but his stubble unkempt- makes liquid need flow through Hunter’s veins.

“You came back.” His voice is stronger than Hunter expected, and that is good, because it can either mean that he didn’t hurt him that badly or that Fitz is strong enough to deal with it, and Hunter is okay with both possibilities. His statement is, still, a little strange.

“I thought you didn’t want to see me.” He can not help saying it; it’s anticlimactic, in a way, to be received with such gentleness after screwing up big time. It’s not that he wants Fitz to suffer, but being on the receiving end of a little shouting and some tears would have made him feel like he made amends, while now he still only feels like an asshole. 

“That doesn’t mean you couldn’t come back. This is your home too.”

That is the breaking point for Hunter, who gets by his side in two quick steps, and throws his arms around Fitz, holding onto him for dear life. Fitz lets him do, probably more startled than actually receptive to the physical contact, but not being pushed away is all the hope Hunter needs; if Fitz lets him, he can and he will make this right.

He is shaking, overwhelmed by the warmth and the scent and the solid feeling of Fitz between his arms. He is the one holding Fitz, but Fitz is the one holding him together, and really, how could he think even for one second that this relationship was anything but the best thing that has ever happened to him?

Finally, after what feels like a year of grounding feelings, Fitz places his hands on Hunter’s hips, and breaks them apart a little. His face is still closed off, no sign of the unashamed excitement that made Hunter fell a tiny bit in love with him within five minutes of meeting him, but there is a half smile tugging at his lips, and that is not nothing.

“Want a cup of tea?”

He’s not that much of a tea drinker, but he takes the offer as the middle ground for a reconciliation it is, and the gratefulness in his voice when he says _please_ it’s very sincere.

* * *

Fitz has fixed his Darth Vader head-mug with Earl Grey with a splash of milk, and while Hunter watches him drinking from his own mug- Daleks’ blueprints filled with honey-sweetened Bai Mudan-, he can not help thinking that this is going a lot better than he expected.

He is not naive enough to think that everything is great, that they will go on with their lives like nothing has happened, like Fitz didn’t propose and Hunter didn’t freak out and they both didn’t cried themselves to sleep, Hunter’s tears mucking up Bobbi’s favourite trousers, Fitz probably huddled tight with Simmons. It’s not what it’s going to happen, and it’s not what should happen, either.

“You have been quiet,” he says it softly, trying to not make it sound like an accusation. On his way here, he had been thinking about all the things he wanted to say, all the ways in which he wanted to fix this, but he knows now that first he needs to know what is going on inside Fitz’s head, how they got themselves into this mess of misunderstandings.

Fitz blows the steam of his mug, his pink cheeks making his eyes look bluer than ever, and Hunter finds he has trouble swallowing.

“I am sorry.”

Hunter frowns.

“For what? For being quiet?”

“No.” Fitz shrugs, and Hunter’s frown deepens. “I’m sorry for all,” he makes an all-encompassing gesture with his arms, “ this.”

“I bailed on your proposal and you feel like you are the one who needs to apologize?”

There is a hint of rage in Fitz’s eyes at his words, and Hunter’s heart rate picks up. The quiet intimacy has been nice, but this is what he actually needed: to know that Fitz still cares enough about them to have some fight left in him.  

“Yes.” His voice is not angry, but firm, and Hunter automatically straightens up. “We hadn't discussed it, and it was unwise of me to dump that on you without knowing if you were agreeable to the idea or not. Especially considering your history with Bobbi.”

Hunter stretches his arm until he can place his hand on top of Fitz’s.   

“Love, I didn’t freak out because we haven’t discussed it or because my marriage with Bobbi was an utter mess.”

“Then it was because you don’t want to marry me.” His voice sounds wet, but his face still looks pretty much neutral, and Hunter wishes that he would let his emotions take the reign of him. It’s not like him to pretend to keep his cool, and it makes him feel like he is arguing with Bobbi all over again, and that was the kind of thing that drove him insane about Bobbi.

“No. It was because _you_ want to marry _me._ ”

It took him a little while to process his feelings, to understand what kind of memories Fitz’s proposal was bringing back, to what dark place in his mind it had taken him. In which insecurities pool his anxiety was tapping to get him into fight or flight mode.

Fitz tilts his head, too perplexed to even look rejected.

“I don’t understand the difference.”

Hunter inhales deeply before explaining, holding Fitz’s hand tighter in between his. The difference between their two points of view it’s a little tricky, and he wants to make it as clear as possible.

“What freaked me out was knowing that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. I don’t know how to accept the idea that people want me around. Because, sure, I can pretend that I don’t care and that I force myself on people’s lives anyway but, Fitz, I don’t know how to be loved like that, in a healthy way. And that was terrifying, and the only thing I could do was fleeing.”

There are tears on the corners of Fitz’s eyes, and he can feel a couple of his own starting to fall down his cheeks. He lets them run down freely; holding Fitz’s hand is way more important than his pride.    

“And don't you... love _me_ like that?”

Fitz sounds hurt and small and finally they are both past the pretenses of coolness and taking everything in stride. They are emotional men, both of them, and Hunter wants that emotion to be present in this, showing that they care, that they are willing to put on work for this, that they are still _them._

They both have their issues, the way Fitz’s douchebag of a father used to abuse him as a child being upfront on Hunter’s mind. He needs Fitz to understand for once and for all that it’s not that Hunter doesn’t deem him worthy of that kind of love.

“I do. I so do, love. But it’s not the same, because you deserve it, Fitz.”

He is full on crying now, and fuck, he didn’t exactly have expectations about how things were going to go, but this is not a good development. Fitz lets go of his hands, and Hunter takes them to cover his face, tears slipping from between his fingers. 

But then Fitz is kneeling on the floor by his side, his arms enveloping Hunter like the best, warmest blanket he had ever owned, his soft lips finding their way to the hollow between Hunter’s neck and his collarbone, and his voice is muffled but it still is a soothing mantra flowing through Hunter’s body, _I love you, I love you, I love you._

It makes him cry harder, but he lowers his hand to search for Fitz’s cheeks and drag him up until his mouth can find skin, the curve of his cheekbone, the tip of his nose, the corner of his lips, and then he kisses him fully on the mouth, hungrily, frantically, lovingly, lovingly, lovingly.

Fitz tangles his fingers on his hair, grounding him, and Hunter moans inside his mouth, both from enjoyment and from longing. It seems so rational now, that the best course of action is to stay, to cherish this thing that is the best he has ever had. The problem is, still, that he already knew this was the best thing for him, but he is not the best thing for Fitz.   

Fitz breaks the kiss, and Hunter chases his mouth, still not ready to let him go. One more kiss, two more kisses, three more kisses and pressing Fitz’s chest firmly against his own. Can he compress a lifetime of kisses in five minutes?  

When he does manage to break apart, Fitz’s eyes are honest and clear, and they make Hunter’s bones melt. He feels defenseless to those eyes, and he blurts out, “You should be trying to dodge this bullet, not planning a wedding.”

Fitz frowns his nose in disgust, and it’s the most adorable thing Hunter has ever seen.

“Who said anything about planning?” The joke passes, and his face turns serious again. “Hunter, I won’t say that you are the best man I have ever met, because that’s… I’m not gonna say it’s not true, but it’s inconsequential. You are the man that makes me happy, and the one that I want. Can’t that be enough?”

Hunter takes one of his hands in between his, takes it to his lips to kiss the center of the palm, and then the tip of each finger in turn.

“It shouldn’t be.”

He rubs his thumb over Hunter’s lower lip, a gesture sweet and firm.

“But it is. And even more, it is my choice, not yours.”

Hunter catches his thumb in between his teeth, grazing the pad with his incisors, and Fitz’s breath hitches.

“It might take me a while to accept it, love.” His eyes are closed while he says it, and then he starts lavishing Fitz’s thumb with his tongue. It’s not that he is trying to get out of the hard emotional work with turning the moment sexual, but this is the way he loves him, worshipping of his deft, creative hands included.

“That’s okay.” Fitz’s smile is sincere, but the hand he is placing on Hunter’s lower back is wicked, and it makes him whimper. “We can learn to love ourselves together the same way we learnt how to love each other.”

Hunter presses Fitz’s palm against his cheek, keeping his thumb against the corner of his mouth, and relishes on the feeling of skin on skin.

“Married together?” There is a hint of soft hopefulness on his voice that he wasn’t expecting. The heart wants what the heart wants, he supposes.

Fitz leans over to press a sensual kiss behind Hunter’s ear, his tongue barely lapping at the soft skin there, and then he moves to nibble on his earlobe. Hunter presses harder than he should on his wrist that he is still holding, wanting to convey the idea that he wants him close, he always wants him close. Fitz tickles all his sensitive spots until Hunter is quivering with need, and only then moves his lips closer to his ear, his voice both enticing and tender.

“We will see about that. In the meantime, let me remind you all the ways in which we are great together.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of LLF Comment Project, whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>   * Short comments
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